


rules

by AnnaofAza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 19:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20215132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: As fitting with secret relationships, Keith and Shiro have some ground rules. Keith’s used to this kind of thing.





	rules

_Persephone_ takes off with a roar that shakes the platform. Keith clutches the railing with one hand, Shiro’s dog tags in the other, and watches the rocket disappear.

* * *

In the beginning, the rules are simple: Always say _please_ and _thank you_. Wash hands before every meal. No sodas, except on special occasions. Don’t ask about Mom. 

After well-meaning teachers and clerks and strangers asked where his mom was, after teasing from the other kids at school brought Keith to tears for the first time, after he caught his dad sitting on the front porch and looking up at the stars, Keith wanted more, but never asked.

His dad told him very little, but it was enough for a child. _She was impossibly tall, _he said. _Very brave. She loved you very much. She was a pilot, from far away._

Then, after the fire, he wishes he’d broken this rule, because his dad was the only one with the answers. No one else could give him anything, just shuffling him from home to home, with new rules, ones that he came to usually ignore. No staying out past curfew. No taking from the fridge outside of meal or snack times. No cutting class or detention. No making trouble.

Then, the Garrison happens. Uniforms are to be in pristine condition—collar straight, belt fastened, shirt tucked, no hair below the shoulders. Simulators are confined to a specific time and always with an instructor. Absolutely no wandering off Garrison property, unless you have signed permission from an officer. Always salute a superior officer: right hand raised, heels together; don’t dare look them in the eye. (If confused, consult the official handbook.)

In Keith's life, there are others, unspoken and kept close to his heart: _Don't get attached. Don't show interest in anything. Don't trust anyone._ All of it can be taken away, disappearing like smoke.

Shiro breaks all of these rules.

* * *

_Number One: Don't act suspicious._

* * *

“Seriously, you have to stop saluting me and calling me _sir_,” Shiro says. “Matt’s asking if we’re in a fight.”

“Good call,” Keith replies, leaning back against his bike. The sun’s setting in the cliffs; they’re pushing curfew, but neither of them want to go back and pretend to be officer and cadet, new rules in an already-tiring dance. “Griffin wondered if I lost my place as _Officer Shirogane’s favorite_.”

Shiro laughs. “I can assure you that that position is safe.”

“Is it?”

“I think it was written especially for you,” Shiro replies, with a wink.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Who knew acting professionally was more suspicious?”

“I guess that says a lot about our interactions,” Shiro says wryly. His hand finds Keith’s, and slowly, they entwine fingers. “But I want us to be careful, Keith. Really, really careful. I don’t…want to mess this up.”

“No,” Keith says. “Me neither.” He coughs, pulling away. “I mean, but all bets are on me.”

“Keith,” Shiro says slowly, “what are you saying?”

Keith flushes, hands curling into fists at his sides. They have had talks like this—about Keith’s dad, about Shiro’s disease, about a few of Keith’s old foster homes, about Shiro’s dad leaving—and it’s easier to say with nothing but the canyons around them. But still… “I mean, I just. I’m not good with emotions. Or people. And this is both. If it’s going to—I don’t want it to—but you’re going to realize that—I don’t know. It’s not…worth it, maybe? That I’m just some dumb screw-up—”

“Keith.” This time, Shiro’s voice is stern. “I don’t want to hear you say that about yourself. Ever. If anything, I’m…” He laughs, a bit self-deprecating. “I’ve dated before. And I get those—those looks of disappointment down the line. Like Pinocchio,” his voice pitches into a squeak, “_not a real boy_. Though,” Shiro adds, “I guess it’s more like _I’m _a real boy, and that’s not what they want—and the total opposite of my analogy, or whatever, and I—” He sighs, shakes his head.

“Who were these assholes?”

“Keith.”

“Seriously.” Keith’s getting pissed. Who the fuck did this to Shiro? He wants to punch someone.

“No. You’re not getting in trouble for me.” Shiro places a hand on Keith’s shoulder, squeezing once. “Okay? Look,” he says softly, “we both have worries. And in a way, that’s good. Because we don’t want to hurt each other. We want this to work.”

Shiro cups Keith’s cheek, brings his head up, and finally, in the privacy of the open desert, kisses him.

* * *

_Number Two: Look at each other like normal fucking people. Interact like normal fucking people. Be normal._

* * *

“Shiro, I look ridiculous,” Keith says.

“No,” Shiro replies, but the giggling’s just making it past his teeth. “You look—”

In response, Keith strikes a pose, looking straight ahead as if staring into a camera, arms tucked back his back, and Shiro loses it.

He can see why: the gray jacket is bad enough, draping loosely off his shoulders, with the orange cuffs to his knuckles. But the beret pushes it to another level of absurd: cocked at a forty-five degree angle, hanging slightly over Keith’s right eye like a patch. Not to mention that his hair’s in need of a trim, hanging down to his shoulders, and that his pant hems trail on the ground like an evening gown, on the verge of being stepped on by Shiro’s too-large boots.

Keith whips off the cap and throws it at Shiro, hitting him square in the chest. Shiro continues laughing, raising his hands to shield himself from his own pants, then each of the boots. “Keith! Keith, okay, I’m sorry! I surrender!”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Keith says, about to unbutton Shiro’s jacket and throw it at him, too, but Shiro’s hands suddenly clamp around his wrists. Keith looks up, surprised, as Shiro’s cheeks turn a slight shade of pink.

“What?” he asks.

“You look really, really nice in my jacket,” Shiro says, and pulls Keith closer just as the door slides open.

Immediately, they spring apart, but it’s too late.

Messenger bag slung over his shoulder and glasses slightly askew, Matt’s staring because…well, this looks bad: Keith wearing a terrible combination of cadet pants, belt unbuckled, and Shiro’s jacket almost hanging off of one shoulder. In fact, it looks worse than what they originally were trying to do.

“Uh. What exactly is going on?”

“Seeing what Keith looks like in officer’s clothes,” Shiro says, after a horrible, long silence. Which had been the truth, but now sounds like a paper-thin excuse. _I just tripped and fell! Oh, Officer, I was only going a little over the limit! _“As a motivational technique. For Keith." 

“Well, obviously, you’re failing because Keith looks ridiculous,” Matt says.

In response, Keith scowls at him, with Shiro’s head falling into a remarkable pout.

“Well, they’ll look better when they’re tailored to fit. Obviously.” Shiro turns to Keith, tilting his head mock-thoughtfully. “Besides, you’ll look better in gray.”

“Oh, excellent motivation, Shiro,” Keith drawls.

“It was for Matt,” Shiro says cheerfully. “It clashed with his hair.”

“Hey!” Matt sputters.

Keith smiles. He’s so in love.

Shit. Where did that come from? Is it too early to think that? Let alone say it—no. No way. He’s not ready. He’s beyond that realm.

But it’s true. He’s never felt anything like this before, even on his best days, and Keith looks at Shiro, doing his best to act casual but visibly fighting a grin. He’s a terrible actor; he’d probably be cast as a tree in a school play. He’s ridiculous and enthusiastic to the point of cheerleading and loves mac and cheese too much and—

“Earth to one Keith Kogane,” Matt’s saying. “Come in, Kogane. Paging Kogane. Are you there, buddy? Keith. Yoo hoo.”

Keith quickly breaks his gaze away from Shiro. “Yeah?”

“Well,” Matt says, “I was going to share with you guys a little secret thing to communicate with Katie during Kerberos, but I have a feeling you two need me to make another one right away. No need to thank me. And don’t worry,” he adds, before closing the door on their shocked faces, “I can keep a secret.”

* * *

_Number Three: No touching, except for shoulder touches, handshakes, the occasional nudge to the ribs. A risk: hugging, acceptable if a few seconds and culminates with hearty back slaps. Absolutely no kissing on Garrison property._

* * *

“You know,” Shiro says, “we should wait until we’re off Garrison property.”

“It’s not my fault that someone decided to get crazy in the simulator,” Keith replies.

“Hey, you beat my record, again. How could I resist? Besides, who nearly went full mode during the announcement for Kerberos? Matt had to practically tackle you.”

“Can I help that I’m proud of my boyfriend for getting to go and see if aliens are real?” Keith asks.

Shiro rolls his eyes. “You’re beginning to sound like Matt. What’s next, me as space ambassador?”

“I can be your bodyguard,” Keith suggests. “Sunglasses, iron knuckles, leather jacket—”

“If that’s a hint to get my jacket, then no. How are you going to explain it?”

“I don’t know. Downgrading from cars to clothing?”

“What a way to tell everyone,” Shiro wryly replies. “Also, remember I left you stealing government property off my initial assessment. Then again, I’m _technically_ government property, so I can write you up. ‘To whom it may concern, Keith Kogane is guilty of a serious infraction, according to the playbook of the esteemed Galaxy Garrison; he stole my heart—”

“Stop,” Keith says, flushing. He lightly smacks Shiro in the chest. “Got any better ideas? Getting ‘accidentally’ caught by Iverson?”

“You hate that man,” Shiro says, but grins indulgently. “Iverson it is. What else are you thinking? Common room? Graduation? When you get accepted onto the next mission with me as your co-pilot? After I get back from Kerberos—during a press conference? Or right on the launch pad?”

Keith snickers, tracing circles on Shiro’s knuckles. “Can you imagine? You emerging from the Persephone, all triumphant in your space suit—me waiting on the platform—then running towards each other, arms outstretched, and I leap into your arms—"

“And I spin you around, right off your feet,” Shiro continues, grinning, “and then that’s when we plant one on each other, cameras clicking, crowd cheering—"

“Iverson fainting in the corner while I kiss the first pilot to go farther than anyone in the universe," Keith finishes, gazing up at Shiro with a smirk on his face and hands in Shiro’s back pockets. 

“Sounds like a showstopper,” Shiro says, then pulls Keith in by his hips. “Want to rehearse? For history?”

“For history,” Keith agrees, and they quickly find themselves occupied. 

* * *

_Number Four—_

They never did get to the rest.

* * *

Their first kiss is during monsoon season. 

They beat it back to the shack in record time, barely managing to drag the hoverbikes up the rickety wood steps and through the door before the first droplets of warm rain begin pattering on the windows.

Both of them are laughing breathlessly, so much that Shiro has to place a hand on the seat of one of the hoverbikes for balance, goggles dangling around his neck. Keith takes Shiro in, smiling openly in a way he’s never seen, in his old house, in that stupidly attractive leather jacket.

“Iverson’s going to kill us,” he finally says. 

Shiro looks at him, a grin still playing on his face. “Well, he’s going to have to wait on us.”

Now or never. “I wonder—” Keith clears his throat. “I wonder what we should do. With the time.”

“How long do these things last, anyway?” Shiro asks casually.

Keith pretends to think. “Depends. Half an hour? More? A few times, they’ve even lasted most of the evening.”

“That’s what I thought,” Shiro says, and there’s nothing but rain pelting and wind howling outside. The air is humid, even in this shack; Keith can taste the electricity in the air, ready to crack in the sky. Just in time, a flash illuminates the room for a second, just as they lean in at the same time.

Keith has to stand a bit on his toes, gripping his fingers into Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro’s hands are warm but trembling ever so slightly, cupped around his face, kissing him with the fervor of the storm outside. His forelock tickles against one of Keith’s eyelids and part of his nose, goggles pressing against the bare skin of Keith’s neck, but Keith doesn’t care; he only pulls Shiro closer, opening his mouth, very aware that this is his first kiss. He told himself he’d stopped making a big thing out of it, knew that it was supposed to be clumsy and awkward and uncomfortable, but here: here, it’s perfect.

Lightning flashes. Shiro pulls away, entwining his fingers in Keith’s, smiling as another boom pierces the air. Keith can feel bits of sand and dust in between his own fingers, the calluses against his palms, the trace of sweat. Outside, clouds are rolling in, dust swirling, the tire swing outside whipping around, nearly hitting the tree.

“You know,” Shiro jokes, “they say it’s romantic to kiss in a storm.”

“Not this one,” Keith says, briefly glancing outside. “You’re welcome to go out by yourself, though.”

Shiro draws him closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, and presses his mouth against Keith’s. 

Electricity crackles, and Keith holds on again, leaning into him, Shiro backing up and hitting one of the hoverbikes, but they don’t stop, hands moving, lightning flashing. Rain pounds on the roof as Shiro kisses Keith’s cheek, throat, and collarbone, and Keith greedily traces Shiro’s back and shoulders over the leather, then starts pushing it slightly out of the way. Shiro practically sits on the hoverbike, letting him explore, and grips the back of Keith’s head in his hand.

Wind whirls and whirls and whirls outside, and Keith’s grateful that they’re inside, as Shiro kisses him again, tasting like desert and sun and lightning. They later will move to the couch, slowing down to curl against each other lazily as the last of the rain makes its way down, Shiro’s goggles getting lost in the cushions, Keith putting his feet up on the coffee table.

But for now, trapped in Keith’s shack, waiting for the storm to pass, they kiss as rain pours and lightning strikes and dust rolls in for a blinding storm. 

* * *

In the end, it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because the ship is gone.

It doesn't matter because there's no more rules to break with someone out of the picture. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. But at that time, it doesn't matter anyway. Does it? If no one knew how much you loved him, did you? Did it even exist? Of course it did, but does it make it more tangible? More real? (Keith asks himself, stumbling through the desert and spitting up dust, looking for answers.)

There's a rule Keith's forgotten, after all this time: _Don't let anyone or anything break you._

* * *

The last rule he ever makes, only solidified the first time he sees Shiro staring out in the horizon with a new metal arm and a haunted look: _Always save him._


End file.
